Initial Impact
by Rumour of an Alchemist
Summary: Alternate Universe. Supplementary material to 'Saint Potter'. Additional material regarding some of those affected or involved in the immediate wake of events at Hogwarts on the first of September, 1991. Perspectives (eventually) of various characters. Warning! Characters who have diverged from canon.
1. Minerva McGonagall

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter gives the take on things of a somewhat tired and frustrated Minerva McGonagall as the evening of the first of September, 1991, draws to a close at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This material is set in the Saint Potter universe and is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Following the events of Hallowe'en, 1981, Sophie was brought up by her (muggle) grandfather, Seamus Tombs.

* * *

It was the first night of a new school year and Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had had an evening best described as 'trying'. There had been multiple minor frustrations such as the delay in getting the first years to the castle because one of them had had a run-in with probably the Weasley twins and got left behind on board the train – Minerva was _sure_ those two would never have run wild had they been in _her_ house the way that they had done in their first year under Filius, and she just hoped that after a quiet second year this wasn't a sign of their being back to the bad old days again. And then there had been the antics of Mr (Zacharias) Smith and Mr. (Ronald) Weasley _during_ the actual sorting, which had required her attention – with her time _already_ stretched – once the sorting was over (she had treated Mr. (Ronald) Weasley sympathetically since he had at least voluntarily acknowledged that he did not belong at Hogwarts). And between that and that the headmaster had insisted she check arriving trunks for 'contraband' before they went on to the appropriate dormitories (not all of them, thank Merlin, but just one in every ten), she'd missed most of the post-sorting feast.

Not that on this occasion the headmaster was much bothered about the contraband items many pupils might be bringing into the school or the uses to which they might put them – what he was _really_ interested in was whether or not Sophie Potter had brought her father's invisibility cloak to Hogwarts, which item for some reason the headmaster had spent far too much spare time during the past decade obsessing about. The 'search of every tenth trunk' instruction was simply what he considered a reasonable excuse to have Minerva poke around (as allowed by school rules) in Miss Potter's trunk. Every other trunk which Minerva checked as part of the search (for all that spread throughout some of them had been three bags of firecrackers, a giant tarantula, and ten books of dark magic, all of which she'd duly confiscated) was of no significant concern to him beyond that it offered the illusion that Miss Potter had _not_ been specifically targeted. And whilst Minerva had been searching trunks in the depths of the castle (and being baffled in her errand by one in particular), Albus Dumbledore had been sitting upstairs making polite conversation with the Minister for Magic and enjoying some first-rate nosh.

* * *

But the bitterest disappointment of the evening had been Miss Potter. Minerva considered it perhaps a touch unwise and reckless of the headmaster to have directed the Sorting Hat to disregard family traditions as a primary reason for a house-placement. She could grasp at why he _had_ done it, but in terms of one of his primary goals it had turned out to be a failure, because the Black girl had ended up in Slytherin anyway. And then, of course, Miss Potter had ended up in Slytherin, no doubt at least partially because the headmaster _had_ taken family traditions out of the reckoning – although Miss Potter's upbringing had almost certainly had a lot to answer for too.

Clearly Miss Potter's muggle relatives were a bad lot. Minerva had wanted Sophie raised in the wizarding world, but for some reason in the wake of the events of Hallowe'en 1981 the headmaster had considered her best placed with immediate family, even if what immediate family of Miss Potter survived was entirely muggle. But even so, Minerva could have kept at least an eye on Miss Potter's doings over the years, if it hadn't been for those blasted wards. Minerva had no idea if it was Albus or Remus who had cooked them up – each had informed her that they'd left security for Sophie to the other – but every time she'd tried to go anywhere near the residence indicated by the Hogwarts records to be Miss Potter's habitual abode, she'd become hopelessly confused and ended up unable to find it. It had been impossible for her to get _any_ kind of glimpse of the girl at home, and the one occasion she _had_ seen her had been achieved only by pretending to be a muggle school inspector and attaching herself to a team making routine checks in the London area, until she'd finally hit a school which Miss Potter was at at that time. And that had provided a foretaste of the disappointment yet to come – the girl had seemed to have no idea that she was a witch – and worse still seemed content with her muggle life and her muggle school and her muggle friends. She apparently possessed no kind of knowledge of or regard for the _important_ side of her heritage.

* * *

Minerva had, of course, looked for Miss Potter amongst the gaggle of new pupils as soon as the boats arrived at Hogwarts earlier this evening, but the solitary school inspection sighting of her which she _had_ had was now several years past and insufficient for her to identify Miss Potter out of a crowd of fifty odd first-years. She'd had suspicions as the group moved through the castle, and the first-years milled around whilst waiting to be looked over by Poppy. She thought she might perhaps be the blonde girl that Amelia Bones' niece had attached herself to – but it subsequently turned out that that was 'Hannah Abbott' (and her eyes were the wrong colour, anyway) which had left Minerva feeling inwardly embarrassed and completely flummoxed as to which girl Miss Potter _could_ be? She'd dismissed the other closest possibility in terms of hair and eye colour and face shape – the girl in the ridiculous pink jacket and baseball cap – on the basis that despite her attire that girl actually _looked_ as if she had half an idea about what was going on around her, and had grown up in the magical world. She even had what looked like a custom-made goblin-work wand-sheath, for Merlin's sake, which would have taken knowledge and connections to obtain.

Of course, when Minerva had called for Miss Potter it _had_ been she-of-the-dubious-fashion-sense-and-wand-sheath who had got up and headed for the hat, discarding completely her till then casual manner. For a few painfully long minutes, whilst the hat pondered, Minerva had dared to hope that the girl might _actually_ be worthy of the name of Potter after all, before had come the bitter moment when the hat sent her to Horace's house instead of that of which Minerva was the head and which also happened to be that of Miss Potter's witch and wizard ancestors.

She was a Potter only in name Minerva had concluded. Minerva could see nothing in the girl of one of her most favourite pupils ever, James Potter, but only traces of that nasty muggle girl who'd seduced him. She was half inclined to suspect that Selena or whatever-her-name-was must not have been quite completely muggle after all, but have had some sort of veela blood.

If only James had lived longer, then despite his unfortunate marriage, at least he might have fathered other children, _worthy_ to carry the Potter name – children who might have borne something of his semblance. Instead… instead of this _thing_ which was a mockery of everything James had been, and which had been sorted into _Slytherin_ of all houses.

Minerva almost wished this thing and You-Know-Who had blown each other to blazes, and that _nobody_ at that fight in Godric's Hollow almost ten years ago had survived that night.

Almost.

The Potter name might be about to become extinct, but maybe if this thing survived long enough to mate, some of the grandchildren would bear a resemblance to their noble grandfather, James Potter. Sometimes desirable traits skipped a generation. Minerva had been a teacher for long enough to have noticed that.

In the meantime, Minerva was going to have to grit her teeth and try to salvage anything of James Potter that she could out of this wretched girl – despite the fact that she was only going to get transfiguration classes in which to do it thanks to the Slytherin sorting. Although Merlin only knew that Minerva was going to have her work cut out. The girl's _trunk_ had said how little like James she was. Nothing refined, old, and elegant with the Potter family arms on and a simple locking charm, but something _solid_ and spanking brand new with three of those blasted goblin locks on it. _Three_ locks. Locks of a design so rare or new that the deputy-headmistress hadn't seen anything like them before. Minerva hadn't had a hope of getting into the trunk as Albus had ordered, within the time-frame available before the Slytherin first-years headed for their dormitory – or not without permanently damaging the trunk and potentially destroying some of the contents (including any present invisibility cloak). She'd had to send the trunk on unopened to Slytherin and an urgent note to Horace that Sophie's trunk had been one of the 'tenth' ones and would he please accordingly check it for contraband, in accordance to the headmaster's directions, with Miss Potter's assistance?

Minerva could have been in and out of James Potter's trunk in ten seconds. She _had_ been, on occasions, in fact, when she'd had to carry out searches for prank items after yet another suspected 'Marauder' incident during James' later years at Hogwarts. Of course she'd _never_ found any such items in Mr. Potter's trunk after the first such search. He'd rapidly learned how to take a hint, had James, and to race ahead each time she stopped by their dormitory on such an errand, whilst his friends politely delayed her and he removed any items which might embarrass her or Gryffindor house.

He'd had such natural charm and instinctive grace, had James…

* * *

Author Notes:

As a reminder, this is set in an alternate universe, where characters may differ from canon counterparts.

The 'Black girl' referred to, is Kara Black, daughter of the late Regulus Black, and heiress of the Black family, who is also starting at Hogwarts this year.

In the Saint Potter universe, in recent years Hogwarts has employed additional teaching staff in some of the subjects taught to all seven years. Since transfiguration is one of these subjects, this afforded Professor McGonagall the time to go gallivanting off around London, tagging along with normal school inspection teams, trying to catch a glimpse of Sophie Potter.

On an ironic note, at this point Professor McGonagall is so caught up in her memories of James and superficial appearances, that she's overlooking the most obvious thing which Sophie inherited from her father – magic.

Minerva has _not_ remembered the name of Sophie's mother correctly. Sophie's mother was _Selene_, not _Serena_ – not that Minerva is likely to care much about that at this point.

Whilst in this universe, at some point after 1978 as in canon Albus Dumbledore developed a private theory about James Potter's ancestral invisibility cloak, unlike in canon he was unable to persuade James to lend it to him so he could inspect it, once he had his theory. (Sophie's mother may have been a muggle but she could see how useful it was and refused to let her husband let the cloak out of his sight, given the war which was on.) Albus Dumbledore has, however, been unable to forget the cloak, and a decade without being able to confirm/deny his theory has somewhat got to his judgement.


	2. Albus Dumbledore

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter covers the thoughts of Albus Dumbledore during the sorting of the evening of the first of September, 1991, at a couple of moments - primarily, following the sorting of Sophie into Slytherin, and then his subsequent thoughts on a few other matters as the sorting concludes. This material is set in the Saint Potter universe and is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Following the events of Hallowe'en, 1981, Sophie was brought up by her (muggle) grandfather, Seamus Tombs.

* * *

The hat's verdict of 'Slytherin!' rang around the great hall of Hogwarts like the crack of doom, a damning indictment to the ears of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of just how much things had gone awry. Where was little Soapy? Where was the half-blood 'little princess' of James Potter, who was destined to grow up to play with fairies, ride unicorns, and be the perfect Gryffindor? For a moment, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry felt nothing but a sense of intense betrayal, looking at the girl starting to rise to her feet from the stool. He forced himself to start clapping, and to try desperately to understand – to grope for a broader perspective of the situation and to look beyond the immediate feelings that somehow Sophie had just failed him.

Of course, all this needed to be framed in the context that little Soapy had been brutally robbed of her parents nearly ten years ago in Godric's Hollow, including of the Gryffindor father who would have made sure she had a happy, carefree, childhood, and grew up to be adventurous and brave. Her parents had been violently taken from her, and some of the blame for that, Albus had to accept, must lie with him. _He_ had been the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, after all, _he_ had assumed that the Potters would be safe under a fidelius charm, and _he_ had raised no objections when James had inquired if it would be okay if they used Sirius as secret keeper?

And that actual night at the end of October in 1981, following a brief appearance at Hogwarts, Albus had sat in the home of the Longbottoms and refused to move himself or quickly reallocate resources elsewhere, because he feared the attack his magical alarms were soon alerting him was taking place against the Potters was only a diversion intended to draw him away from protecting a higher priority target. Albus Dumbledore had, in the heat of war, made a decision that Soapy and her family were less important than others who might yet be under threat from an attack-in-force still to come, and he had not found out until it was too late that the main attack of that night _had_ been against the Potters.

And that was _beside_ the whole other issue of the trust which Albus had misplaced in Sirius Black for far too long, and in the doing so misled others. When a hastily convened secret court had found Sirius Black guilty of treachery, murder and countless other crimes, and sent him to Azkaban, Albus had felt no satisfaction, nor even relief, but only sadness at all the lives wrecked because he, Albus Dumbledore, had placed so much trust in one wrong man.

Watching Miss Potter head for the Slytherin first years' table, Albus felt a tide of guilt swamping his earlier sense of betrayal at her placement in Slytherin. Things he had done or not done had shaped Miss Potter's life, too often (however inadvertently) to her detriment. She owed him nothing, least of all a sorting into the house of a father she could scarcely have known.

Slytherin might not be the house, Albus mused, which he'd assumed for years that the charming little baby girl he'd once known would grow up to be in, but if it was the house which was best for her and allowed her to for a while chart her own course, then so be it. He just hoped that she would be able to find her feet quickly there.

* * *

The rest of the sorting produced a couple of minor events of note, with Mr. Zacharias Smith being sent away (and with the Minister for Magic himself amongst the witnesses to Zacharias' behaviour, it was to be hoped that Zacharias' parents would have the sense _not_ to make a fuss about it) and Mr. Ronald Weasley requesting to go home and forego the opportunity of a Hogwarts education. Mr. Ronald Weasley's departure removed at least one care from the headmaster – it was possible that having gotten off to such a bad start with Miss Potter on board the Express, that Ronald would have held a grudge and tried to make trouble for her throughout his school career. With his withdrawal, at least _that_ potential problem was gone.

Other possible problems had arisen, however. By Albus' maths, a quarter of the Slytherin first years who had just been sorted there were muggle-borns. Albus could only hope that Horace found the ingenuity to cope with that somehow – opinions in Slytherin might not be _quite_ so overtly prejudiced as they had been a decade or two ago, but there was nonetheless a strong anti-muggle-born undercurrent in the house in general. Albus suspected that the fate of these three muggle-borns would ultimately depend on whether the first years, as a group, clung together or not? If they stood firm, collectively, they could probably withstand the rest of the house.

Alas, it was almost as difficult to predict the workings of Slytherin house as the vagaries of the Highland weather.

Anyway, the sorting was done, with Mr. Zabini sent to Ravenclaw, and Albus murmured a quick assurance to the Minister, then, as the applause for Mr. Zabini died away, stood up to make his necessary 'announcements' before dinner could (at last) get under way.

* * *

Author Notes:

This chapter went through at least three versions, as I tried to settle on the reaction of the headmaster of Hogwarts in this particular universe to Sophie Theresa Potter's sorting into Slytherin, and how to portray said reaction. In the end, an 'initial impression' of what he thinks/feels was what seemed appropriate.

I'm not clear what Albus Dumbledore was doing in canon on the night of Hallowe'en 1981, but in this universe he made a brief appearance at the anuual feast at Hogwarts, before heading over to the Longbottom ancestral home to spend the evening there in case Voldemort or Death Eaters attacked. (Information he was in possession of at the time had led him to conclude that an attack there was imminent.)

James Potter, as in canon, was firm friends in this universe during his school days with fellow Gryffindor students Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. All four Gryffindors joined the Albus' organization, 'The Order of the Phoenix', and participated at various levels to greater or lesser extents, Sirius Black being asked by Albus to try to infiltrate Lord Voldemort's organization for him.

As a reminder, some characters and events have diverged considerably in this universe from those of their canon equivalents.


	3. Hermione Granger

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter concerns the Hermione Granger of the 'Saint Potter' universe, between the moment she's sorted into Ravenclaw and the end of the sorting of the evening of the first of September, 1991. This material is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Following the events of Hallowe'en, 1981, Sophie was brought up by her (muggle) grandfather, Seamus Tombs.

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger's initial feeling, upon being sorted into Ravenclaw, was relief that she hadn't ended up in Gryffindor like that bossy Bones girl, or Hufflepuff like the Bones girl's loyal sidekick friend, Hannah-whatever-her-name-was. The finger-wagging Bones girl was as bad as her aunt, the head of Magical Law Enforcement, and had quite ruined Hermione's boat ride once she discovered who Hermione was.

This feeling of relief upon Hermione's part lasted mere moments until, glancing back towards those remaining as yet unsorted, she noticed Sophie and Neville, and remembered that she was supposed to end up in the same house as at least one of them.

Neither of them looked to Hermione likely natural fits for Ravenclaw.

Here Hermione was, a muggle-born at Hogwarts, in a house in which she was likely to have no friends or allies.

She felt ill and wondered for a moment if she could go back and ask the hat for a second opinion, but the last line of that song rose treacherously in her mind: '_But cross me and depart these halls in consequential infamy._'

Hermione had no idea if going back to the hat and demanding it try again counted as crossing it, but she wasn't feeling brave enough to find out.

She went and sat at the first-year Ravenclaw table.

Actually, there was _one_ face she recognised here – Neville's friend, Stephen Cornfoot, who'd chatted to Neville and Hermione for a bit on the Express until Erica showed up, at which point he'd made his excuses and left.

"So you survived Snape." Stephen said as Hermione sat down next to a girl in robes who Hermione thought looked the _friendliest_ of the other Ravenclaw girls currently sorted.

"Err, yes." Hermione said. "We got a visit from the head-girl, though, which was very terrifying. She ignored me, but she looked like she was going to eat Neville alive for a moment. She decided to let him be in the end, though."

"What was Susan bending your ear about in the boat?" the girl sitting next to Hermione proved to be less friendly than she looked. "I saw her talking to you about something."

"Oh." Hermione inwardly squirmed. "I met her aunt on my shopping trip to Diagon Alley. There was a misunderstanding. I'm muggle-born, you see, and knew practically nothing, and the teacher who'd been accompanying me and my father had an emergency or something she had to rush off to, and just left us there."

"Which teacher?" the other girl narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, err, Professor McGonagall." Hermione actually cringed.

The other girl considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

"Bit reckless of her to abandon you like that, but she _is_ the head of Gryffindor, and Gryff's rush in where others fear to tread. Or rush off, in your case." She frowned. "I'm Amanda Brocklehurst by the way."

"Deborah Abasinger."

"Stephen Cornfoot."

"Anthony Goldstein."

"Kevin Entwhistle."

"Michael Corner."

The other first-years thus far sorted into Ravenclaw variously introduced themselves.

"Err, Hermione Granger." Hermione said.

"And obviously Ravenclaw is the _best_ Hogwarts house." Anthony added.

"How do we know that?" Deborah asked.

Silence fell upon the Ravenclaw first-year table, and all eyes turned her way.

"I'm not saying it _isn't_ the best house." Deborah continued. "I'm asking how do we _know_ that it is?"

"Well, err, obviously we're all in it and we're the best pupils in the year." Anthony was floundering.

"I'm sure," Deborah said, "that if you asked the boys and girls at the other tables, right now, a lot of them would say something the same as that. And so far the only pupil I've seen everyone in this room clap the sorting of – which might look like common consent to being one of the best pupils in the year – was that Kara Black, who is currently sitting over there at the first-year _Slytherin_ table."

"Well _her_ father was in Slytherin, and, err…" Anthony trailed off and frowned.

"Right." Kevin nodded. "If she's gone into Slytherin because her family goes there, then good pupils do not automatically go into a house because it is the _best_ house."

"Maybe we could work out a rating system." Michael Corner said slowly and thoughtfully.

Hermione gradually relaxed, as a debate about how to rate houses got going, and the awkward moment of her encounter in Diagon Alley was forgotten about.

It was a highly interesting discussion, and _she_ didn't understand all the points being made, but clearly she was in intelligent company, and wasn't likely to be mocked for spending too much time reading.

The discussion was briefly interrupted by the arrival of 'Sue Li' at the Ravenclaw table but started up again after that, although Hermione was distracted from it by the fact that, immediately after Sue, Neville Longbottom had just been called.

She saw him go to Slytherin, and shrugged – it would have been _nice_ if he'd ended up in Ravenclaw, but she was feeling more at home here already.

* * *

More sortings flew past, with occasional Ravenclaw additions to the vigorous debate now ongoing, until the call for 'Potter, Sophie', brought proceedings at the first-year Ravenclaw table to an abrupt halt, as everyone turned to get a glimpse of the heroine.

Hermione couldn't believe it.

It was the girl who'd been sitting with her and Neville on the Express.

The girl who had said she was called 'Sophie Theresa'.

"That's Sophie _Theresa_ Potter." the girl clarified to the _entire_ school. "No unicorn today, but I did bring my middle name instead."

Hermione's bristling outrage subsided.

She remembered comments she herself had made to the effect of being able to sympathise with anyone wanting to avoid all that bother.

And then the thought occurred to her that _she_, Hermione Granger, had started a rumour that The-Girl-Who-Lived was disguised as Ron Weasley.

No wonder the moment that Sophie had heard _that_ she had gone off looking for a prefect with Erica.

Hermione just hoped that Sophie wasn't the sort to hold a grudge over that rumour. It wasn't as if Hermione had _known_ who Sophie actually was at the time. She certainly wouldn't have started the rumour if she'd realised that The-Girl-Who-Lived was sharing the compartment with her – or not, perhaps, without checking it with her first.

Hermione absentmindedly wondered if Erica had been part of some sort of low-key security assigned to Sophie? Especially if Erica was capable of being even a quarter of the way as fearsome as Stephen had seemed to think that she was?

"You seem to have gone rather quiet, Hermione." Amanda nudged her.

There was speculation ongoing around the table about this sorting – which seemed to be taking some time – and which Hermione had been ignoring, lost in her thoughts.

"Oh, I was sitting in the same compartment as her on the Express." Hermione said. "She didn't say she was The-Girl-Who-Lived, though."

"Yeah, I thought it was her." Stephen added, looking relieved. "I mean, not at the time, but I thought just now she looked like the girl who was with you and Neville and, err, Erica."

"Well what do you know about her?" Sue asked Hermione. "If you spent the train journey sitting with her, you must have picked up things."

"Err, she's really good at _Battleship_." Hermione offered. "And she knows a lot about the wizarding world." She wracked her brains. "I spent a lot of the time reading though, a book which she'd leant me about important families. Nobody told me it was a good idea to find out stuff like that before coming here."

"What's _Battleship_?" Stephen looked lost.

"It's a muggle game." Kevin said. "Two players or teams try to guess where the other side has hidden a number of targets which represent 'ships' in a grid."

"Did she say anything about where she's been living?" Anthony asked Hermione.

"I think she's been living with her grandfather." Hermione said, remembering the man from platform three. "He's a muggle who works in security advice or something, I think he said."

"What about…" Stephen began, before the hat finally shouted its verdict, cutting him off:

"Slytherin!"

A dead silence fell upon the hall, and then enthusiastic applause broke out on the Slytherin tables, before spreading, in a slightly more restrained form, to the others.

"Wasn't her father a Gryffindor?" Kevin frowned.

"I believe so." Amanda said.

"So, we can probably discount the important-pupils-going-into-houses-just-because-their-family-was-there theory." Kevin said.

The discussion on the merits of the houses resumed, this time with a Girl-Who-Lived angle to it.

Hermione wished she'd made more of an effort to talk to Sophie on the Express. It was irrational to think it, but maybe Harmione would have ended up in Slytherin with her and Neville if she had done so…

* * *

The awful fate of Zacharias Smith which shocked the hall into silence left Hermione feeling tremendously relieved that she _hadn't_ gone back to the hat to demand it think again about her house. If it would do _that_ to a boy from a family of important witches and wizards (for those of her new housemates who had grown up in the magical world were quick to assure Hermione that Zacharias' family considered themselves tremendously important) then just think what it would have done to Hermione, a mere muggle-born!

At least, Hermione hoped, as Zacharias was removed by castle house-elves, she _wouldn't_ have made a scene like that though, if the hat had decided to throw _her_ out.

"So: what house would he have been in, had the hat not decided to throw him out instead?" Padma Patil threw this question out to the whole table for speculation.

This was a good question, and prompted much debate. Zacharias' family claimed descent from Helga Hufflepuff, which tied in with the earlier discussion over whether pupils went into houses on the basis of ancestry? But Zacharias had looked much too cross and _petulant_ to be a Hufflepuff, those first year Ravenclaws who had grown up in magical Britain claimed. Their opinion was he looked like a particularly nasty specimen of a Gryffindor or Slytherin.

At any rate he wasn't going to be in Hogwarts now for at least four months.

The call of 'Weasley, Ronald', attracted Hermione's attention.

"Shhh!" Hermione hushed the table. "This is the boy who tried to jinx Sophie on the Express. Sophie _Potter_ I mean." she clarified. Hermione was sure there was at least one other Sophie who'd she'd vaguely heard being sorted during the evening.

Her fellow Ravenclaws duly fell silent, and craned their necks to examine the specimen currently occupying the stool. Although the redheaded boy was quite tall for a first year, he was currently hunched and rather miserable looking.

And then the news broke, that he wanted to go home, and a murmur went around the hall.

Hermione supposed that if she had pulled a wand on someone who subsequently turned out to be a national heroine, she'd feel cripplingly embarrassed by it – it was probably a personal disaster on the same scale as the telling-off she'd got in Diagon Alley – but _she_ wouldn't want to go home and forget about a magical education at Hogwarts because of something like that. The boy was pathetic.

She did her best to ignore for now a faint nagging sensation of guilt that maybe – just _maybe_ – the rumour she'd started was to blame for this. And even if it was, so what? The school was obviously better off without Ronald Weasley, if trying to jinx a girl he barely knew was typical of how he reacted to problems.

* * *

The girl immediately after Ronald Weasley provided a talking-point, since Anthony and Stephen claimed she was a French girl they'd met on board the Express who 'hardly spoke a word of English'.

Nicolas Romanov – the pupil who'd been accompanied by aurors practically since leaving platform three up until the moment he'd been sorted (into Ravenclaw) – snorted at this notion:

"Hogwarts ask questions of myself and my parents before _I_ come. They very careful _I_ have more than a little English language, and I am _Romanov_. A French girl like her, will _have_ to speak enough English too, I think. If she not speak English to you, maybe she," Nicolas frowned, "make 'funny' at you?"

This caused both Anthony and Stephen to look nonplussed – Anthony considerably the more so.

At any rate Genevieve de Winter ended up in Slytherin.

After Genevieve's sorting the last girl of the evening went to Gryffindor, and then the last boy, Blaise Zabini was placed in Ravenclaw.

Then the headmaster reeled off a set of announcements, before (finally) to quite some fanfare dinner arrived.

The sorting was over, Hermione had survived and made it into a Hogwarts house, and soon Hermione's first year at a school of magic would get 'properly' underway.

* * *

Author Notes:

Having covered the (in some respects contrasting) thoughts of two of the most senior staff members of Hogwarts with the first couple of chapters of this, I've touched on Hermione and tried to give an impression of first-year Ravenclaw on sorting night with this chapter. These are eleven year olds, and the level of debate/discussion about the various topics they cover probably isn't that sophisticated, but they _are_ Ravenclaws and it seems to me that it's something which might come naturally to them during the long process of the sorting.

Hermione is somewhat nervous, and vacillates over whether or not she 'fits in' in Ravenclaw or not, feeling perfectly at home at some moments, and wishing she were elsewhere (specifically Slytherin) in others. Regarding Ronald Weasley and Hermione's belief that he's utterly pathetic, throwing away a chance of a magical education, Hermione is forgetting that Ron is from a magical family and can still learn things at home. Hermione, as a muggle-born, has considerably more incentive (and less choice) when it comes to the question of whether to stay at Hogwarts or not, and her comparison of her own situation to Ron's isn't strictly fair. But she _is_ an eleven year old, and somewhat restricted in her capacity to view the bigger picture.

As a reminder, this is set in an alternate universe where some characters and events differ considerably from their canon counterparts. A list of the first-years, by house, as of September 1st, 1991, is included in the Author Notes section of the chapter of 'Saint Potter' titled 'Welcome to Hogwarts'.


	4. Fleur Delacour

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter goes overseas, to Beauxbatons school in France, for the thoughts of the quarter-veela witch, Fleur Delacour on the evening of September the first, 1991, as she prepares to retire to bed. In theory the people speaking/thinking in this chapter are doing so in French, but rather than attempt to write a whole chapter in French, I've added the occasional French word or turn of phrase. As a reminder, this material is set in the 'Saint Potter' universe, which is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint. Consequently some characters, situations, and events differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a granddaughter of Simon Templar and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-who-Lived'.

Further Note (translation): Occasional French words are scattered through this piece. In the event that any reader is curious, they loosely translate into English as follow: _Excusez-moi_ – excuse me; _Et tu?_ – And you? (This style of question indicates informality on the part of the speaker); _la Manche_ – The Channel (the stretch of sea which separates England from France); _méchante_ – spiteful or nasty.

* * *

Fleur Delacour had returned to Beauxbatons for the commencement of her fourth year of studies, her enchanting dark-blue eyed gaze fixed firmly on the future. For the whispers there had been over the summer were now all but confirmed for those whose families were 'in the know': the Triwizard Tournament was to be revived, in an expanded form, and the inaugural event hosted by the prestigious school, St. Sebastian's, in Switzerland.

Even once a venue was selected, these things naturally took time to plan and organise – several years, in fact – and in Fleur's estimation it would likely be during her seventh and final year as a student that the next tournament would fall.

And Beauxbatons, in accordance with traditions, would be one of the participating schools.

Fleur Delacour was one of the foremost students at Beauxbatons in her year, and by 1994, providing she did not slack-off, she did not doubt that she would be one of the foremost pupils in the school. If she put her name forward, it would be entirely natural for her to be selected as the champion for her school, giving her both instant fame and the opportunity to acquire much _wider_ spread recognition and glory by _winning_ the tournament.

All she had to do was maintain a rigorous level of study, and hope that the Beauxbatons curriculum was adequate to the demands of the tournament.

There was one _slight_ annoying fly in the ointment: historically, the rather brutal nature of some of the tournament tasks counted against there being Beauxbatons winners. Beauxbatons turned out some of the most beautiful, charming, conversationally-talented young witches and wizards in the world, who were prized across at least three continents as diplomats and spouses for senior politicians, but there were certain areas where what was taught was rather… lacking. Historically, the only occasions on which Beauxbatons students had won the tournament had been ones when the school itself had been hosting the contest or otherwise heavily involved in the determination of the tasks – which was somewhat embarrassing a record. It suggested Beauxbatons champions were incapable of winning unless the odds were heavily stacked in their favour.

Still, St. Sebastian's had a curriculum and ethos much like Beauxbatons, and if Fleur applied herself, and extended her studies to dabble in topics outside the Beauxbatons norm…

Fleur was disturbed in her thoughts and preparations for bed, by the unexpected entrance of her dormitory mate, Roseanna de Winter.

"Oh! _Excusez-moi_." Roseanna apologised. She had simply walked in without warning. "I was not expecting anyone else in our year to have left the banquet yet."

"Early night – to be fresh for tomorrow." Fleur had recovered rapidly, gathered her long silvery hair back from in front of her face, and shrugged. "_Et tu_?"

"Oh, a late-night floo call from my parents." Roseanna said. "I had been half-expecting it anyway, and had been eating hurriedly. I arranged notes to inform Claudette and Simeon, and thought to retire to bed rather than return to the table."

"A crisis?" Fleur enquired.

"No, nothing like that." Roseanna shook her head. "My parents have contacts in the British Ministry, and had just received confirmation from across _la Manche_ to the effect that my sister, Genevieve, has arrived safely at Hogwarts and has apparently been 'sorted into a house'."

Ah yes, Hogwarts. Fleur's lip curled in a mixture of curiosity and disdain: The school for witches and wizards in an antique castle haunted by ghosts. Hundreds of years ago it had been one of the foremost schools in Europe, but as those who produced the curriculum became more and more obsessed with goblin rebellions, it had sunk into mediocrity, geared up for training pupils for a cultural and political situation which even back then was soon decades out of date. Despite this increasingly outmoded fixation, Hogwarts had nonetheless maintained an adequate reputation as far as producing fighters and duellists went, well into the twentieth century, but then had come the British Wizarding War, and practically any significant family _not_ already rooted in Britain had considered it unacceptably risky to send their children there. That had been the end of Hogwarts, internationally speaking, as anything other than an educational backwater, mired in irrelevance. Word had recently started circulating, however, that the Hogwarts curriculum was finally being dragged into the twentieth century – and with the war a decade or so safely in the past, _some_ major families outside the British Isles were no longer immediately ruling out the British school as a possible choice for their children.

"Why exactly _has_ she gone to Hogwarts?" Fleur enquired. Roseanna had mentioned that her parents were apparently looking into sending her sister there back in June, just before Beauxbatons broke up for the summer, but Roseanna had also said that she thought that they'd never actually _do_ it. "I had thought that all your siblings would attend here?"

Hogwarts' own uncertain reputation aside, Beauxbatons was _the_ premiere school in the world when it came to educating those with strong veela heritage, with staff with years of experience in handling the temperaments that resulted and a curriculum designed to work to the strengths such ancestry bestowed. And any child born a de Winter tended to be somewhat more than half-veela. (Which fact drove many same-sex contemporaries of female de Winters in the upper echelons of Beauxbatons to fits of unreasoning jealousy – though Fleur herself preferred to use the existence of Roseanna and her family as a positive motivation to push herself to achieve greater things with what she _did_ have, instead of wasting time feeling pathetic and insecure about being 'only' _quarter_-veela.)

"I do not know." Roseanna shrugged. "The heads of family told Genevieve something about needing information about werewolves, but that was a reason to assuage her pride, I have no doubt. She _does_ speak good English – it is the language the family assigned for her to be trained in as a second language – but the senior members of my family keep their true reasons to themselves, and will explain _nothing_ to those of us who are underage."

The last was said with an air of almost complaint to it.

Fleur would have been surprised if _any_ family with senior members possessed of any kind of political nous automatically explained anything important to an underage female member who attended a boarding school where there were girls' dormitories. Girls asked questions (even of people they had trouble going thirty seconds without saying something _méchante_ to) and girls gossiped. Whilst Fleur would have felt highly honoured, had her own parents taken her into their trust by explaining some secret important to the Delacours, she wouldn't have _expected_ it of them given her age and situation.

"What house did your sister sort into?" Fleur inquired, politely diverting the direction of the conversation. Traditions guaranteed that Hogwarts was a supplier of at least a competitor for the revived Triwizard Tournament, so Fleur had done _some_ research about the school. She knew enough about Hogwarts and the 'house' system, for example, to be aware that pupils were grouped together supposedly on the basis of traits of character.

"Slytherin." Roseanna said, brightening up considerably. "Apparently, some of the other most promising and important students of the year have sorted there, too. The heiress of a British magical family with much wealth and influence in terms of political debts owed to it, a muggle-born prince, _and_ 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'."

Now that latter _was_ news to Fleur, not least because of what it implied, and it caused a slight frown to crease her brows.

"I thought the latter was a myth the British had invented to explain their last dark lord somehow blowing himself up whilst muggle-hunting in a most unlikely fashion?"

"Apparently not." Roseanna said.

There was so much invention, propaganda, and wild claims floating around in the magical histories the British had produced about their recent war, that first year Beauxbatons students spent several weeks studying translations as examples of just why you should be prepared to question _anything_ you read – even in supposedly credible 'historical accounts or sources'. There were specialist class options available too for upper year Beauxbatons students, where they studied such documents in-depth to hone their skills at discerning genuine fact from outright fabrication. Fleur herself had considered 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' story to be one lacking so much as a single grain of truth (beyond the dark lord's demise) from start to finish, most likely invented to cover up the involvement of magic so dark that the British Ministry wanted nobody to suspect it existed.

And yet, apparently, someone claiming to be 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' _had_ turned up at Hogwarts this very night…

"Hmm…" Fleur said. The corner of her mind committed to looking out for the interests of the Delacours was simultaneously pondering the possibility that the de Winters might have sent a daughter conveniently approximately the same age as The-Girl-Who-Lived to Hogwarts on the basis that she might be able to get into the same house, or at least classes, as her? Not that it would be _polite_ to suggest such a theory to Roseanna.

It seemed unlikely, and yet the de Winters must have had _some_ reason for sending one of their daughters to Hogwarts this year. It seemed so _at odds_ with what passed for their usual educational policy (practically every de Winter child since the family's return to France at the start of the 19th century had either home-schooled or attended Beauxbatons) that clearly _something_ had to be going on.

Fleur would have to write to her parents in the morning, to suggest that they might like to look at the de Winters and why Roseanna's sister may have been sent to Hogwarts…

* * *

Author Notes:

St. Sebastian's is a school in Switzerland for witches and wizards. Whilst I'm not aware of the mention of any such school in canon, it seems to me reasonable to assume that many countries (at least in Europe) would have their own school of magic, even if some schools have much bigger reputations (such as Durmstrang and Beauxbatons) and capacity to attract 'foreign' pupils than others.

In the Saint Potter universe, preparations (as indicated by this chapter) for the 'triwizard' tournament are getting under way some years in advance of the actual start of the tournament.

I'm not aware of what sort of curriculum canon Beauxbatons may have, but the Beauxbatons in this alternate universe is (as of September, 1991) geared towards social, political, and philosophical training (alongside the basics of magic).

The 'Simeon' and 'Claudette' to whom Roseanna refers are siblings of herself also currently attending Beauxbatons. (Simeon is in the fifth year, and Claudette in the second.)

(Update 29th December, 2012):

The de Winters left France in 1788 due to political enemies of the time being in an ascendancy and seeing trouble ahead for 'muggle' France so violent that it must at least spill over into the magical world. They spent a number of years 'in exile' in Britain, before returning to France in 1802, a number of their enemies having been displaced or killed during the intervening period and judging that under 'The Consulate' muggle France now had leadership which would, at the least, guarantee stability.


	5. Luna Lovegood

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter concerns the Luna Lovegood of the 'Saint Potter' universe, on the morning of the second of September, 1991, as newspapers carrying tidings of events at Hogwarts the previous night are starting to arrive at breakfast tables across wizarding Britain. This material is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations (as may be apparent with the Luna of this chapter) differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Following the events of Hallowe'en, 1981, Sophie was brought up by her (muggle) grandfather, Seamus Tombs.

* * *

It was the morning of the second of September, 1991, and Luna Lovegood peered at the headlines of _The Daily Prophet_, which announced 'Historic Night at Hogwarts!'

Beneath there were various subheadings, clarifying that the Minister for Magic had attended the sorting of the first years, that Zacharias Smith had been thrown out of the school, that various famous pupils had been sorted into Slytherin, and that the journalist Rita Skeeter had tried to attend the event but had misplaced her invitation and was 'currently being questioned by aurors'. There were multiple references to 'see pages _x, y, and z_' for further details. The_ Prophet_ seemed to be dominated by last night's events at Hogwarts this morning.

Luna looked at the headlines of _The Daily Prophet_ every morning out of a habit which she hadn't quite managed to shake yet. She was a ten year old girl, and wasn't actually interested in anything the _Prophet_ had to say on its front page, unless it involved the demise of large numbers of dangerous creatures – preferably of snorkacks. Her father had used to make a game of looking at the _Prophet's_ headlines at breakfast though…

Her father was dead, and Luna could still remember seeing his horribly mangled body. He'd said that the truth was something that one should never be afraid to look at, so of course Luna had looked, before the undertakers started to do their work. And Luna had seen the truth – that dangerous creatures killed witches and wizards in really rather unpleasant fashions, and her life had changed forever.

Well it had changed in _more than_ the sense that her dearly loved but eternally foolish father was dead, leaving her mother a widow and with the jobs of bringing Luna up on her own and avenging his death. It was just what Xenophilius had referred to as 'his girls' (meaning his wife and daughter) together now, in a world where innocence and meaning well were no protections against the horrors out there…

Luna's mother had inherited _The Quibbler_. She had dispensed with it, and in its place started a magazine dedicated to keeping the wizarding public – and those who protected the wizarding public in particular – fully informed of what dangerous creatures existed, and how to deal with them. Luna's mother, Artemis, was named after a Greek goddess of hunting, and she took to _Monster Hunter's Monthly_ like a duck to water. The old staff of _The Quibbler_ were either re-employed on the new publication, or let go with generous redundancy payments. And _Monster Hunter's Monthly_ was a roaring success, already spoken of highly as a source of information and intelligent discussion, and winning plaudits from those in the field of pest-control. A few old fogies missed _The Quibbler_ and occasionally wrote to Luna's mother asking when she was going to start it up again, but none of them had had their fathers or spouses trampled to death whilst personally researching an article, and they didn't really have any right to complain.

All of this was by the by though.

Apart from the crossword in _The Daily Prophet_, which Luna always either did if it was difficult – or just coloured the squares of in, in pretty patterns, if it was too easy – there was _one_ thing to particularly interest her in the _Prophet_ today.

She turned to the lists of which houses the new first years had been sorted into. Luna _knew_ which house she wanted to be sorted into if she went to Hogwarts next year, and it was best to be informed in advance on who had gone where. If the list of those who would be in the year immediately above her (and who next September might be looking to bully new first years to assert their own position) looked unsuitable, then Luna would have twelve months to persuade her mother to send her anywhere but Hogwarts.

Luna was anticipating a fairly easily manageable crowd…

She stopped dead and blinked.

What in Merlin's name had happened at the sorting last night? She didn't recognise _half_ these names. She counted, just to double-check. Nope. Exactly half might just as well be random jumbles of letters to her.

"Umm, mother. I _know_ that daddy really _wanted_ me to go to Hogwarts, and set everything up in terms of things like money, but I just thought I'd let you know, I _really_ want to think hard about it for the next six months…" Luna carefully began.

* * *

Author Notes: (subject to update, depending on early reviews)

To the best of my knowledge, no first name is given in canon for Luna's mother. I have selected the name 'Artemis' for her for the purposes of the Saint Potter universe.

In the Saint Potter universe, Xenophilius Lovegood was trampled to death by a snorkack (whilst out researching a _Quibbler_ article) in May, 1989. This resulted in his wife quitting what she had been doing up until then (which was possibly whatever she was doing in the canon universe which results in her death when Luna is nine) to look after Luna and to avenge her dead husband.

Even though the Luna Lovegood of the Saint Potter universe wasn't actually accompanying her father on his fatal last trip, the circumstances of it (and of seeing his body afterwards) have deeply affected her. Her interest in snorkacks, for a start, is directed towards the complete extermination of all known wild species. That extends to many other species of what she considers 'dangerous' wild animals, too…


	6. Rita Skeeter

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter concerns the journalist Rita Skeeter of the 'Saint Potter' universe, on the morning of the second of September, 1991, as she sits in auror custody following her detainment uwhilst using an unregistered animagus shape the previous evening at Hogwarts. This material is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations differ considerably from canon. In this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'.

* * *

Rita Skeeter, fearless investigative journalist and one-time member of Gryffindor house had now officially had the worst night ever of her life.

Worse even than that embassy party in Tangiers when an Italian dignitary had sneeringly said in front of a room full of variously important people: 'Ms. Skeeter? Like the blood-sucking insect, I suppose?'

(Oh, how she had made him suffer in the months after that, picking apart his too-perfect reputation in the press until there was nothing left of him or his career…)

She still wasn't entirely sure what she'd got wrong. She'd apparated early yesterday evening to a point in the Forbidden Forest close to the Hogwarts boundary fence, walked up to the fence, checked for alarms, applied magic which ought to get her past the alarms she _had_ detected, transformed into her animagus form, and flown into the grounds.

Within what had to have been less than a minute, there were suddenly Hogwarts house-elves everywhere on the grass beneath her and Mr. Snape had materialised out of thin air, and in seconds spotted her despite the swirling mist (okay, admittedly the coloration on her animagus form wasn't the best cover when in flight) and snatched her into a swiftly conjured jar.

Rita was pretty sure Mr. Snape hadn't been riding a broom, either, but simply _hovering_ there in mid-air.

After which, with the lid of the jar firmly screwed down, she had descended into the depths of one of Mr. Snape's pockets, to be bumped and tossed around, with some sort of faint constant _buzzing_ sound obscuring her from hearing anything going on in the vicinity at all. This state of affairs had gone on for some time until suddenly there was light again, and she (still in the jar) was being handed over to a man who even from a bug's eye point-of-view seen through the slightly distorting curved walls of a jam-jar bore an unpleasant resemblance to a certain senior auror, Rufus Scrimgeour.

There had then followed a further indeterminate period of being bumped around in a pocket, before suddenly (just as she was starting to seriously worry about the possibility of the air in the jar running out), being decanted from the jar in the confines of an auror holding cell, surrounded by half a dozen witches and wizards, and forced back into her human form.

Following which she had been strip-searched by female aurors, thoroughly subjected to spells to negate any ongoing magic on her person, seen her clothes and possessions confiscated, and been forced into a luminous lime-green set of robes that high-security prisoners were required to wear when not on trial or residing in Azkaban. She had been issued a formal caution, and then requested to confirm her name (which she had done whilst issuing some perhaps ill-judged threats as to what she was going to do unless she was _promptly_ released) and to provide details of where the animagus form she had been using was legally registered (which she had obviously been unable to do, since it wasn't).

And then she'd been left in the holding cell, to get what sleep she could under the glare of the continuous magical lights.

Given the circumstances she hadn't bothered to try and resume her beetle form to make an escape attempt. Whether the cell was warded against making transformations or not, she was pretty certain she was being watched and adding to the potential charge-sheet against her by adopting an unregistered animagus form in front of possible auror witnesses whilst in auror custody was about as stupid as you could get. As was making any other effort to illegally get out, for that matter.

She just _wished_ that somewhere along the line she'd been given a clue as to where she'd messed up. There'd obviously been _some_ sort of perimeter alarm at Hogwarts other than the ones she'd detected which she'd tripped, but how the hell had those elves and the school caretaker homed in on her so fast or apparently known who and what they were looking for?

Hogwarts security last night had clearly been much tighter than she'd given it credit for.

* * *

In the wake of some sort of gruel 'breakfast' (basic but better than the fare served at some locations in Knockturn Alley, say), and a tightly supervised (again by female aurors) 'comfort break' Rita was escorted into an interrogation room, and practically forced to sit in a plain wooden chair. The fact that she was so very clearly about to be on the wrong-end of an unfriendly interview said that officialdom didn't think much of the threats she'd issued the previous night.

Two female aurors remained behind her, to either side and just out of easy grabbing range, with wands drawn. Rufus Scrimgeour was sitting across the table from her in an equally plain wooden chair.

The table seemed to be of some sort of muggle manufacture, with a smooth, cold, artificial top.

"Good morning Ms. Skeeter." Rufus Scrimgeour said coldly. Official auror quills scratched away at parchments on a small side-table, independently recording everything said. Scrimgeour proceeded to lay out the possible case against her, occasionally consulting a piece of parchment in front of him on which the cryptic symbols of what Rita guessed was some sort of shorthand were scrawled. She surreptitiously squinted at it as Scrimgeour went on, trying to make out what it might say, but found herself completely baffled. "As we mentioned to you last night, you're being held here for use of an unregistered animagus form. In case you were unaware of the severity of your offence, use of an unregistered form in wizarding Britain can be used as evidence of intent to commit acts of espionage or of murder. Since a number of _very_ high-profile targets were in the area where you were captured, Ms. Skeeter, it's possible that if you're convicted of criminal use of an unregistered animagus form by the Wizengamot, you might disappear into a high-security cell in Azkaban for the rest of your life. The aurors who searched you last night immediately after you were compelled to resume your human form found a wand on you, and we in the auror service have to at least consider the possibility that you were planning to assassinate someone – in particular the niece of the head of Magical Law Enforcement or Nicolas Romanov." Rita's blood ran cold and she abandoned all attempts to decipher the parchment to give the auror her full attention. This was sounding serious! "Although thus far you haven't indicated any hostility to the Minister for Magic – another possible target for assassination by you who was attending Hogwarts last night – you _are_ known to have had frequent arguments in public with the head of Magical Law Enforcement, and your opinions on foreign witches and wizards expressed in your _Prophet_ pieces seem to range from cosy to outright hostile from week to week. Lacking any other explanation for your presence, taken in combination with your being armed, there is sufficient case for the Wizengamot to take a view that assassination was indeed the reason for your presence last night. The staff of Hogwarts assert that your presence was unwelcome and unwanted, that you had received no invitation to be present at the sorting, and that you were trespassing on Hogwarts' grounds. And _should_ the auror office find it impossible to proceed to the Wizengamot with an unregistered animagus case against you for any reason, Hogwarts would be _very_ interested to have you back to execute their own forms of punishment under ancient by-laws and privileges afforded them by the Wizengamot and the Crown."

Rita would worry about Hogwarts later. Her immediate concern was trying to make it clear beyond any reasonable doubt that she hadn't been there last night to try to assassinate the Minister for Magic, which carried a potential sentence of life in Azkaban, if not outright execution.

"I'm a well-known journalist." Rita said. "I was there at Hogwarts for a story."

"Which under the 'use of an unregistered animagus form' legislation is tantamount to an admission of espionage." Scrimgeour said. "And 'I'm a journalist and I was there for a story' does _not_ constitute a defence for any criminal activity where the authority of the British Ministry of Magic extends, Ms. Skeeter."

Rita opened her mouth and hesitated, and then closed it again. After a uncomfortable night and accommodation much below the standards of what she would have chosen to face (unless she was after a seriously major scoop), she'd been worried so much about being had up for assassination that she'd taken her eye off the potential espionage angle to the charge – and Scrimgeour had just got what amounted to a confession out of her. Damn. He was _good_. And her goose was well and truly cooked now, if this went to trial. She stared at Scrimgeour, thinking, and waiting for him to say something more. He simply stared back, apparently waiting for something. What? Was he hoping that she would implicate someone else? Was he waiting for her to try and ask for a 'special deal' of some sort? She _was_ Rita Skeeter, an influential journalist, after all, who would be no use to anyone sitting in a cell somewhere out in the North Sea, her quills dry and quietly crumbling to dust.

Eventually Rita cracked.

"Would it be possible to serve out a sentence in the service of the aurors and Magical Law Enforcement, instead of going to Azkaban?" she asked.

"Have I in anyway hinted that you could do this, by written, verbal, or other means, or placed you under what you would consider any undue duress to ask that question Ms. Skeeter? Are you enquiring purely out of your own free-will, as a penitent, public-minded, individual?"

Right. Scrimgeour was making sure he was covering his back doing everything absolutely 'by the book' and couldn't be charged with improper behaviour or blackmail or anything. Rita had to respect that, even if it was simultaneously denying her a chance to plead improper process at any trial.

"No you haven't. Yes I am." Rita replied.

"I am an auror, Ms. Skeeter. I am required to follow the letter of the law. I am unable to answer your question." Scrimgeour said, a faint hint of distaste in his voice. "I will, however, go and look for someone with the knowledge and ability to give you an answer to that."

* * *

A little over half an hour later, Scrimgeour returned with a guest. Then the aurors all unexpectedly filed out of the room, taking the official quills and parchments recording what was said with them, leaving Rita alone in the room facing the man Scrimgeour had brought.

The crazy dress-sense of the newcomer was as familiar as the face.

He beamed at her and adjusted his glasses.

"Ahh, Ms. Skeeter: As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I believe I have both the power and authority to deal with you on all the counts currently outstanding against you." Albus Dumbledore beamed. "As it happens, since my last venture into the field of espionage ended so catastrophically – as I recall a young Ms. Skeeter of a decade ago being quick to point out at great length in print – I have steered clear of such matters. Clearly, Ms. Skeeter, you believed in those days you were someone much better of judgement than me. In fact I recall – if you will forgive an old man his foibles – you proclaiming boldly in print that you 'would have been more loyal and done a better job of things than Sirius Black'. Happily, since dear Barty signed legislation some years back giving a little group of mine semi-official recognition as allies of the Ministry, of Magical Law Enforcement, and of the aurors, I believe it may be possible to take you up on that sentiment you expressed so long ago, in lieu of an Azkaban sentence. It will be necessary to register your animagus form of course, but so long as you're working for my organization, it won't be on the part of the register available to the general public…"

Rita _stared_ at the man who was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and who held a string of other titles and positions, nominal or not so much so, alongside his role as headmaster of Hogwarts. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. If she understood him correctly…

"You want _me_ to spy for your Order of the Phoenix?" Rita didn't bother to hide the incredulousness she felt. "But the war finished almost a decade ago."

"Ah, but to quote a journalist not sitting more than ten feet from me 'but do wars ever truly end'? I believe that you yourself have often written articles questioning how repentant some former Death Eaters actually _are_, not to mention that piece a couple of summers ago about werewolves."

Ouch. That hurt, having her own words from a sensational piece written purely to sell copy thrown back at her by a gently beaming Albus Dumbledore. Rita stared at him, trying to work out what was going on and if he was serious?

"I appreciate that in order to maintain the illusion of being an independent professional journalist, you would occasionally continue to write deliciously venomous attacks on me in articles;" Albus Dumbledore happily continued. "That it would be necessary for you to give me the same working-over which you regularly give to so many deserving figures in public life in our society in your efforts to keep us honest and to boost your readership – but with you working _for_ me, I would of course be more inclined to entertain any requests you made to discover if Hogwarts staff or pupils were amenable to interview by yourself; and I believe I have one moderately big sized story which might qualify as investigative journalism, which you would have my permission to write next August. This assumes that you do not wish to withdraw the offer you requested Senior Auror Scrimgeour to forward, that is, and would prefer to chance a Wizengamot trial instead. I must confess that it has come to my attention, however, that you have made a good many enemies who sit on that august body, Ms. Skeeter, and whom I fear may not be prepared to be as broadminded about your investigative journalism nor so charitably inclined to forget past-scores as myself – men and women who, if you are not interested in accepting the deal I am able as Chief Warlock to offer you, would be all too happy to recommend you enjoy a prolonged holiday in a room-for-one in a location which enjoys an ample supply of highly bracing North Sea air …"

* * *

Author Notes:

I'm not clear on what Hogwarts house canon Rita Skeeter belonged to (if any), but for the purposes of this particular (alternate) universe, I'm assuming she was a Gryffindor.

Rufus Scrimgeour (as I've mentioned elsewhere) as of 1991 in this universe is a 'senior auror' and lacks the limp he has later on in canon.

Barty Crouch 'senior' was Minister for Magic for much of the 1980's in the Saint Potter universe, and is the 'dear Barty' to whom Albus Dumbledore refers. Amongst other things Barty Crouch 'senior' shook up the magical law-enforcement system, including cutting dementor numbers in Azkaban and introducing the luminous lime-green robes for high-security prisoners in holding or being transferred around the country.

In this particular universe, Albus Dumbledore attempted to infiltrate the Death Eaters with Sirius Black, which didn't turn out quite so well as Albus had hoped for. Albus _thought_ that Sirius was a loyal spy reporting to him on genuine Death Eater activities of real significance. After the war ended, there was sufficient evidence pointing to ongoing long-term treachery by Sirius for Sirius to be sent to Azkaban after a hasty secret trial in the Ministry. Although much of the proceedings of Sirius Black's trial were kept secret, what scant details _did_ emerge as matters of public record conveyed a distinctly unflattering image of Albus Dumbledore's attempt to spy on the doings of Lord Voldemort's inner circle.


	7. Azkaban

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: This chapter visits Azkaban prison of the 'Saint Potter' universe, on the morning of the second of September, 1991. This material is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' story. The universe is an alternate one which was impacted by The Saint and in which some characters and situations differ considerably from canon. In this universe Bartemius Crouch (senior) was Minister for Magic during much of the 1980's, and some of the policies he implemented directly affected Azkaban. Also in this universe James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. For the record, Sirius Black is _not_ a godparent of Sophie Potter.

Further Note: John Beckham and Senior Warden Frizbee are, as far as I know not canon characters.

* * *

John Beckham is a muggle-born wizard, whose parents couldn't afford the cost of sending him to Hogwarts and who wasn't clever or talented enough to get one of the few scholarships – so instead he was put into an apprenticeship.

At least, out here, in the North Sea, the witches and wizards he serves under are friendly, inherently cheerful sorts; ones who aren't wouldn't last at all long. For John Beckham is serving his apprenticeship to the men and women who man the prison of Azkaban, and who have to work alongside dementors every day.

Not that they have that much contact with the dementors – the things are only stationed at a few crucial 'bottleneck' points to control who comes and goes – but their influence is almost unavoidable by anyone moving around the prison very much.

It was worse – much worse – in the days before the Crouch administration, one of the older guards with haunted eyes tells John. There were dementors all over the place in those days. Azkaban was close to being hell on earth, with the human witches and wizards who were wardens of the prison huddling together in a few 'safe' rooms in the light of patronuses whilst the dementors roamed the cell-blocks at will, just _waiting_ for a prisoner to try anything and to become their lawful prey. Crouch may have been a bastard, the grizzled veteran says, who probably wouldn't have hesitated to send his own son to Azkaban had he ever broken the law, but he had _standards_ and Crouch said that witches and wizards were _better_ than muggles and that their prisoners thus needed treating better. The surplus dementors were shipped abroad to foreign governments or culled, the cell-blocks were refurbished and re-warded, and security (which had generally been slipshod and reliant on dementors making anyone incapable of doing anything) was greatly revised and tightened.

* * *

Most of the guards in the main staff common-room, as is usual at this time of day, are flicking through copies of _The Daily Prophet_. Yesterday the pupils headed up to Scotland for a new school year and Hogwarts is all over the first half dozen pages. There's a picture on the front-page of some posh foreign kid with his parents at St. Pancras before he boards the Hogwarts Express, and there are headlines about 'Prophet Reporter detained at Hogwarts amidst security mixup'. The _Prophet_ claims that there's been some sort of mistake about one of its star-reporters, 'Rita Skeeter', who's currently in auror custody, having been found at Hogwarts in an area she wasn't supposed to be in or something.

There are also headlines about 'scion of pureblood family ejected in ignominy' and 'Minister attends historic sorting'. Apparently being a child from an old famous family _isn't_ an automatic guarantee of a place at Hogwarts, even if there are sufficiently important children starting at Hogwarts this September that the Minister for Magic felt it necessary to be there.

And then there are the lists of which houses the first year pupils were sorted into. Had John been one of the privileged few who attend Hogwarts, he would be in his fourth year now. Instead, after a couple of years of having to file papers for a toad-like law enforcement official named 'Dolores Umbridge' (during which he learnt practically nothing except how to say 'yes ma'am' in a suitably deferential voice), this is now the start of his second year in Azkaban. Since arriving here he's learnt all sorts of useful stuff along the lines of opening and closing charms, summoning charms, cleaning charms, disarming charms, detection charms, and (finally, after thirteen months of trying) mastered the patronus charm.

The Hogwarts house-lists amuse the older guards, and one of them is somewhat sheepish about where a distant cousin ended up. There's considerable discussion about what 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' being sorted into Slytherin might mean for wizarding Britain? Does it mean she's an up-and-coming dark lord (or rather dark lady?) which is how at the age of one and a quarter she blew up the previous one? Or does it just mean that she's slightly less the saccharine unicorns-and-fairies girl which almost every writer's been claiming until now? A couple of the guards fancy themselves classical scholars, and nod sagely and comment about 'Odysseus'. That sets another off who says actually it was 'Ulysses', and there's then a three-quarter of an hour long debate about whether the Greek version or the Roman version was more accurate.

The consensus by the end of it is that they can't be sure, but that he was one sneaky bastard it was bloody useful to have on your side, and he would have been a sure-fire Slytherin if he'd have been a wizard at Hogwarts. Well, unless he'd conned his way into being in one of the _other_ houses. This was a guy whose automatic reaction to meeting any stranger was to spin some tall tale about who he was, where he'd come from, and what he was doing wherever-it-was, after all.

Someone mentions the Blacks – Sirius and Edward – and that they're about due to have their papers. Both of them had specifically requested a copy of one of the principle morning newspaper of magical Britain for September the second, to be paid for out of their limited allowances. The mood grows sombre.

Both the Blacks are in solitary confinement in the high security wing. Edward _occasionally_ gets outside visits – presumably out of a mistaken sense of family loyalty – from the wife he once put under Imperius Curse. These visits are supervised carefully, in case even almost a decade after he was sent to Azkaban, there's some control or charm which has gone undetected which he can trigger to force his wife to help him attempt to escape.

Sirius Black never gets any outside visits. During the first few months of Sirius' incarceration, apparently there was an old-school-friend who called several times to exchange angry accusations with him, and _once_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore called, but other than that, nothing. The man who hoodwinked Albus Dumbledore for three long years, who perhaps saved the Death Eater cause in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts with 'Operation Dark Phoenix', and who betrayed one of his supposedly oldest friends to Lord Voldemort sits alone in his cell, building his fantasy fortresses out of glue and matchsticks. The only company he gets is the occasional prison house-elf bringing meals or clearing plates – or more rarely a warden bringing something he's requested.

It is decided that today is John's lucky day, and that he will accompany Senior Warden Frizbee in his mission to deliver a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ to the infamous Sirius Black.

* * *

Standing there in his pinstriped grey muggle suit, Sirius Black doesn't _look_ much like a crazy traitor and double-agent who committed some of the greatest acts of treason of the Wizarding War, and who was one of You-Know-Who's most trusted spies, John thinks, but then he supposes that Sirius Black wouldn't have been able to pull off his role with half as much success for over three years if he hadn't been very good at not looking like that.

Since John and Senior Warden Frizbee are in direct contact with Sirius Black, the 'no wands' rules apply, and they had to check theirs in at the last security point before Sirius Black's cell, and underwent the formality of a search by their fellow wardens to make sure they didn't have any other wands, wand-like devices, or unauthorised potions or other magical items on their persons. Occasionally Magical Law Enforcement sends someone out to randomly require pensieve memories of such checks, to make sure that they're being carried out properly. The theory is that so long as prisoners like Sirius Black don't get anything more magical than a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ their chances of escaping a cell with goblin-locks and multiple warding spells are non-existent. Here in the high-security wing, in theory everything's warded against, from portkeys and apparition to a blanket ward against animagi across the whole wing. (After all, some of the prisoners in high security are here precisely _because_ they were caught doing exceptionally illegal things as unregistered animagi.) Although there have been a number of escapes from Azkaban throughout its history which have been quietly covered up (including of half a dozen Grindelwald sympathisers in the 1940's who had the assistance of a German muggle submarine crew), _nobody_ has escaped from high-security in the decade since the Crouch administration started pushing through changes.

Despite the last-minute protection spells he and the senior warden applied to themselves before checking in their wands, John feels nervous being in the same cell as Sirius Black. Despite the prisoner's currently calm demeanour as the senior warden hands over the newspaper, there's a certain sense of an intelligent and watchful caged beast about the man. _Any_ sign of weakness or lapse in security, and he'll be away, or at least attempting to do so.

John isn't completely clear on why items personally requested by prisoners can't be delivered by the prison house-elves, instead of by human members of staff of the prison, but apparently it's partly something to do with the house-elves not being able to cope if a prisoner has any dissatisfaction with an item which they've been brought.

John reminds himself that if Sirius Black tries to do anything, he'll only have a mere instant to do it before prison house-elves are in the cell and stunning him. If he can't get a wand, in theory anything he tries _shouldn't_ matter.

Sirius Black turns rapidly through the pages of the paper to the lists of houses, and gives a short, sharp, barking laugh as something catches his attention, and apparently entertains him. Since both Black's hands are occupied, and he's a safe distance away, John glances around the cell, curious, and looking over several of the model castles Sirius Black has built. They're unbelievably elaborate and detailed constructions, each of which has taken months to build, but then Sirius Black is a man who has no shortage of time on his hands.

The senior warden waits a few more moments as Sirius Black continues to flick through the paper, and then politely clears his throat:

"You know the procedure, Mr. Black: Do you verbally confirm receipt of one copy of _The Daily Prophet_, dated 2nd September, 1991, in front of this witness, and do you wish to retain it, the cost to be deducted from your yearly allowance for luxury items?"

"I confirm receipt and that I wish to retain it." Sirius Black affirms. "Now unless there's anything else – such as an unexpected appeal hearing for my case having come up – I'd like you gentlemen to leave me alone in peace with my paper."

There isn't anything else, so they leave.

The senior warden would have at least had something sarcastic to throw back at most prisoners, but the inner circle Death Eaters held since the last war are odd cases, that Magical Law Enforcement regards as having almost-prisoner-of-war status, and the current head of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, monitors the treatment of inner circle members in Azkaban _very_ rigorously. Some of the older warders reckon that it's political – treating those of their former leaders who were captured relatively well keeps the rank and file Death Eaters who were pardoned quiet and stops the inner circle members from becoming martyrs for the cause, or at least they reckon that's the theory. The ten odd years of relative peace in magical Britain since the Wizarding War (at least from the Death Eater side) suggest that there _might_ be something to that idea, but personally John thinks that for a man like Sirius Black capable of betraying his supposed friends, maybe there should have been _one_ exception made and a good old-fashioned execution via that mysterious veil they've got in the Ministry of Magic arranged…

* * *

Author Notes: (Subject to revision depending on early reviews)

From a narrative point of view, it seemed appropriate to me to use the present tense for this chapter, in the hope it would lend a slight edginess appropriate for Azkaban.

In the 'Saint Potter' universe, Hogwarts charges school fees, and although scholarships _may_ be available, such scholarships tend to be targeted at 'old' and 'established' magical families (not least in that it takes a particularly determined effort for muggle-borns to discover that they even exist). Clearly arrangements need to be made to educate to a bare minimum level of proficiency those muggle-borns from families either unable or unwilling to pay for their children to attend Hogwarts, and incapable (due to parents with no magical skills of their own) of 'home-schooling' their children. This is where apprenticeships come into play. Muggle-borns placed in apprenticeships in theory gain practical experience in a trade and the rudiments of a magical education, and of course the employer gets cheap labour.

As mentioned in the opening notes, Bartemius Crouch (senior) was Minister for Magic in the Saint Potter universe for much of the 1980's. Whilst his son's fascination for driving very fast muggle racing cars (mentioned in 'Gearing Up') was a slight embarrassment, it never seriously threatened his political career, and a good part of his tenure in office was spent trying to clear up after and repair society in the wake of the Wizarding War. He took a hard-line stance in many areas, digging out and strengthening old laws where possible, or passing new ones where necessary, but he considered Azkaban a hellhole at odds with the 'hard but fair' image he had of himself and of the administration over which he wished to preside, and instituted a radical shakeup of the prison. Most of the dementors were removed, security and procedures were tightened up, and prisoner living conditions were generally improved. An arrangement was put in place whereby well-behaved prisoners were offered the opportunity of muggle clothes to wear, instead of prisoner uniforms, and access to a 'limited' allowance to buy for themselves occasional items such as newspapers or materials to pursue hobbies judged to be non-harmful. And Azkaban was furnished with an extensive library of Greek and Roman writers (and translations thereof) for the use of its non house-elf staff – Minister Crouch considered it essential that those responsible for control of the prison have every opportunity to 'improve themselves' by reading what he considered the 'classics' of ancient Greece and Rome.

Security measures in place on the high-security wing of Azkaban in the Saint Potter universe _not_ covered in the text of this chapter include checks for the use of polyjuice and self-transfiguration at some security points.

'Edward Black' is the Saint Potter universe counterpart of 'Ted Tonks'. When Edward married Andromeda Black he took _her_ family name. As mentioned in the opening notes, some Saint Potter universe characters differ considerably from canon.

Having been incarcerated for being an inner circle Death Eater (a 'special case'), and having 'proved' himself by generally restrained behaviour over the first few months of his incarceration, Sirius Black _does_ have the privilege of a small number of tools (including cutting implements) for work on his models. It's assumed that so long as any witch or wizard member of staff who has contact with him applies appropriate magic beforehand, never encounters him on their own (if a member of staff) and staff apply suitable protective magic before entering his cell, that it's an acceptable risk for him to have access to these if it helps to keep him quiet. So far he's never attempted anything with them other than the purposes for which he was given them in the first place…


End file.
